It's a Monday
by laurieb89
Summary: Just a little bunker/trials tale with some hurt! sick! Sam going on.


It's a Monday. Not that it matters as every day is a Monday in their line of work. Still everything is unusually quiet—maybe more like a Thursday if they worked a "normal" job. Sam has been diligently checking all the usual websites as well as the messages boards, and he's even had Dean pick up several newspapers when he's in town for a supply run, all to no avail. There is nothing, nada, zip! He leans back in his chair with a sigh and looks around the Men of Letters Bunker and wonders if it would be worth his while to tackle the rooms of files again. He is feeling the need for distraction.

Dean is cooking in the kitchen and Sam can smell something involving bacon drifting up the hallway. It's been a couple of weeks since he's finished the first of the Trials and now he's started coughing up blood. Normally the smell of bacon would have him heading towards the kitchen pronto but today it's making him feel slightly nauseous and his head is hammering—hence the need for distraction.

"Yo, Sammy." Dean enters the room with a plate full of food. "Breakfast." He puts eggs, bacon, toast and jam in front of Sam and the smell nearly does him in.

He smiles his 'everything is fine' smile up at his brother. "Thanks, Dean."

Dean frowns. "What?"

Sam shakes his head…he was getting rusty with the whole smile thing and sighs. "Looks good."

Dean cocks his head and Sam could feel his 'something is wrong with Sammy' radar pinging.

"You feeling ok?" Dean asks and a hand slaps on Sam's forehead before he could even twitch.

"Dude!" Sam says as he swats at Dean's hand. "Personal space!"

"Whatever." Dean shrugs and sits down across from him and begins eating his own breakfast with a small frown creasing his forehead.

"I just didn't sleep well," he says—which is a big fat lie as he'd slept like the dead, total exhaustion taking over the second his head hit the pillow.

"Hmmm." Dean starts forking eggs into his mouth. Sam swallows and picks up his fork anyway and with some determination, attacks the eggs and bacon.

"Found us a case," Dean says around a mouthful of eggs.

Sam looks up. "Yeah?"

"Yeah, just a salt and burn over in Wichita—a quick in and out. Should be home by supper."

He smiles at Sam, a bit of egg stuck between his teeth, and that dos it. Sam bolts from the table and barely makes it to the trash when he starts heaving.

"Easy, Sam," Dean says as he hands his brother a rag to wipe his mouth.

"I think I picked up a bug or something." Sam sits back on his heels, grateful for the rag.

"So no hunt?"

"You should go, quick salt and burn, right?"

Dean's penetrating look is almost more than Sam can take. "You sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure." He stands up and heads back to the table, pushing his plate away as the world swings around for a moment. He plops back in his seat.

"Ok then," Dean says, "I shouldn't be too long. I even know where the bones are—course it might take me longer since I'm the only one digging."

Sam cracks a wan smile. "Maybe I'll go through some more files downstairs."

Dean sighs and Sam could see the wheels turning in his brother's head. "You sure? I could stay and help."

Sam laughs. "Yeah, I'm sure…maybe I'll just take a nap or catch up on Game of Thrones."

"Not without me! You know I hate it when you get ahead of me!"

Sam laughs again. "Yeah, I'll probably just read then."

"You keep your phone handy, Sam." Dean picks up his plate as well as Sam's. "And answer when I call!"

"Yes, Dad," he says which earns him a punch in the arm, a very gentle one but a punch none-the-less.

Dean heads down to the garage and fires up the Impala. He eases her outside, not at all sure he's doing the right thing. He glances back at the bunker in his rear view mirror and considers for one brief moment going back in and demanding that Sam tell him what's wrong because if he knows nothing else, he knows that something is wrong with his brother.

He brings the Impala to stop and then with a huff starts up again. He could easily call someone to take care of the salt and burn but the deep seated responsibility of saving people and hunting things is not something he can shake off. So it is with a sense of irony that he heads off to Wichita to save someone else when he's quite certain his own brother needs saving more.

Sam's best intentions of getting right to work fall by the wayside as the nap monster attacks him. He had stretched out on his bed with the one of the Bunker's reference books, determined to learn more about their new home and the Aladdin's treasure trove downstairs when he'd lost the battle with staying awake. After a quick trip to the kitchen for a strong cup of coffee he heads down to the basement, his heart happy to be surrounded by files of old cases and boxes upon boxes of artifacts. Sam wanders over to a series of crates stacked against the far wall. He pries open the first and discovers several curse boxes holding God knows what. He quickly closes the box as memories of the rabbit's foot cause his shoulder to twinge.

With a little effort he pops open the lid of the next box. He peers in. An hourglass, gold and shining, lay in the straw. The sands are a strange shade of purple. He nearly reaches in to touch it but his musings on the rabbit's foot stall his hand. He moves the straw around, looking for anything that might indicate what it was and finds nothing but more straw. He pulls his hand back with a sigh.

His logical self says he should look up the number of the box and research the files to see exactly what it is but the dull ache in his head makes the thought of that task very unappealing.

"What the hell," he mutters and reaches his hand in again, this time touching the hourglass. His last thought before a wall of black hit him is surprise…the damn thing is hot!

Dean is about an hour from Wichita when the front tire blows. He's singing along with Ozzy when a loud bang interrupts the prince of darkness. The wheel jerks in his hand and he maneuvers the big car to the side of the road, swearing under his breath. He sits for a moment before getting out and pulls out his phone. Might as well let Sam know he was going to be a little bit longer than he had originally anticipated. After a dozen rings, it goes to voicemail and Dean frowns.

"Damn it, Sam! What did I say?" Probably the geek is too engrossed in whatever he's stumbled upon in the files and he hasn't heard the phone. Or better yet, he was napping and didn't hear the phone.

Dean gets out and slams the door in frustration before making quick work of changing the tire. He crawls back into the Impala and tries Sam again—and voicemail. Dean sighs. Sam is a big boy now. He doesn't need constant reminders from Dean to take care of himself.

"Fine! Don't answer. Serves you right if I come home and you're dead on the floor," Dean yells at the phone. He throws the Impala in gear and heads on in to Wichita.

Sam wakes on the floor of the storage room, the world spinning in a strange counterclockwise manner. It takes him a moment to remember exactly who/what/where he is which prompts him to wonder if he hit his head. He blinks a couple times and then takes a quick gasp of a breath as there in front of him is himself opening the box that holds the hourglass but he's doing it backwards. He watches in complete confusion as the last few minutes of his life run backwards in front of him before it dawns on him that the hourglass is controlling time somehow, like the time spinner used by Hermione in _Harry Potter._

In shock he drops the hourglass and it rolls from his fingers across the floor and his other self vanishes. Sam glances at his watch, startled to see it's been at least an hour since he started poking around the storage room. He feels weak, beyond the Trials weak but still! Wow! What can he learn? Who can he see again? What can he see again? He looks at his hand where he had felt the burn of the hourglass, expecting a blister at the very least only to see smooth skin. Sam climbs to his feet and looks down at the hourglass, his excitement rising. It takes him all of two minutes to decide to pick it up again. This time Sam is ready for the jolt when he picked it up and time starts marching backwards. He watches himself inspect his hand, undrop the hourglass, and so forth. Time seems to be moving backwards in the same increments as it goes forward which prompts a frown. He turns it sideways and the speed of the backwards time picks up, zooming by until he sees himself sitting with Dean eating breakfast. He turns it upside down and time stops. Sam can walk around the two of them and he pauses a moment to take in how bad he really looks and no wonder his "fake" smile hadn't fooled Dean for a red hot minute.

He lets the hourglass go and finds himself back in the storage room, with little black spots dotting his vision. His legs fold under him and he sinks to the floor, his head pounding and his limbs shaking. Only thing he knows for certain about how this thing works is that it's taking energy from him. He stares at it for a moment, his rational brain telling, no, screaming at him he needs to know a lot more about this thing before he messes with it again. But even as he thinks this he reaches for it, the lure of seeing the past more than he can resist.

Dean finishes the salt and burn with a flourish as he tosses the matchbook into the casket. Once the flame hits the gasoline it all goes up in a big whoosh. Dean hasn't tried to call Sam since the flat tire, figuring he's done trying to baby the boy and he also figures he'll most likely find him hip deep in some file or another in that damn basement with his phone conveniently upstairs. There's really no need to worry but before he knows it he has his phone in his hand and is calling—no answer, only voicemail.

"God damnit!" he yells at the phone. He grabs the shovel and weapons bag and takes long angry strides back to the Impala. He tosses it all in the trunk and then slides into the driver's seat. He sits for a moment, phone in his hand before he caves and tries again. Voicemail. He sticks the key in the ignition and turns it expecting to hear the roar of his baby but nothing. A dull click and there are no words to describe how Dean feels at his Baby's betrayal. With a sigh, he climbs out and opens the hood, hoping that whatever's wrong with her isn't impossible for him to fix in a cemetery, in Wichita, at 10 pm at night.

Sam discovers other properties of the hourglass. If he shakes it and thinks of a particular time and place he can travel along his timeline to that moment. He discovers this quite by accident when a stray thought of Amelia pops into his head when he's in the midst of a sneeze. The repercussions of the sneeze cause his arm to shake the hourglass and suddenly he's in the presence of Amelia and the dog he'd hit. Without hardly thinking he turns the hourglass upside down to stop it, just so he could look at them for a moment.

Only then does he take a moment to wonder how that had happened, thinking for a moment that perhaps it had been the sneeze before deciding that was too random. He tries again, thinking of the last time he and Dean had watched classic horror flicks with Bobby but nothing happens. He tries again, this time shaking the hourglass as he had when he sneezed and poof! His heart clutches a moment at the sight of Bobby and the comfortable couch he'd spent far too many hours on.

Thoughts of all the places he could go and the people he could see again filter through his mind and he drops the hourglass again and he realizes exactly what that means and finds himself back in the bunker, sitting on the floor, thoughts of Dad, Jess, even Mom flowing through his brain. But he's cold and sweaty all at once and his head feels like it's going to split in two. He sneezes again and rubs at his nose only to discover its bleeding.

This gives him a start considering his past history with nose bleeds and he kicks the hourglass away from him, fully admitting now that he really needs to know more about it before touching it again. He feels his phone buzz in his pocket and thoughts of Dean trying to call enter his brain and he wonders how much trouble he's in with his brother.

He thinks maybe a drink of water might help, for sure some pain killers and he tries to lever himself upright when the black spots return with a vengeance and he hits the floor again, his phone buzzing away in his pocket oblivious to the fact that its owner is out cold.

Dean slams the hood of the Impala down over the purring engine. Loose spark plug of all things and he shakes his head. Someone is looking out for him as this was a fast and easy fix. He tries Sam again and surprise surprise…voicemail. He climbs in the car, shifts into gear and punches it. Something is wrong. He's not sure what, just that something is very wrong.

"Sam?!" Dean yells the minute he's in the bunker. "Sam!" He's down the stairs, two at time, no Sam in the library or the kitchen. Next he checks Sam's bedroom, nada. Ditto with the kitchen, gun range, and garage. Dean is running out of places to look when he thinks of the storage room and quickly heads down there. He breaks into an all-out run when he sees Sam's freaky long legs out in the hallway, the rest of him facing the wall on his side.

"Sam!" He slides to a halt next to his brother with his heart hammering in his chest. He takes a deep breath and puts two fingers on Sam's neck. He's never seen his brother so still and heaves a ragged sigh of relief at finding his pulse strong and steady. He rolls Sam on to his back and the concern notches up again as Sam's nose is a bloody mess. Visions of demon/psychic/out of control Sam dance through Dean's head before he stops with a shake of his head. Sam has been clean and very much in control for many years. This is something else.

He looks around the room, trying to decipher what his brother had been up to when he spies the strange hourglass laying within arm's reach. He starts to reach for it but then hesitates as he considers his brother's prone form.

"You went touching stuff you shouldn't have, didn't you," Dean tells his brother. "But enough is enough now, Sammy. Wake up." He shakes Sam gently by the shoulder to no avail. "Guess you're gonna get the ol fireman carry."

With a great deal of effort, Dean slings Sam onto his shoulder and staggers up the hall to Sam's room, flopping him on the bed. He races out of the room and heads to the infirmary to get the first aid kit along with some wash clothes to clean his brother up. He returns to the room to find he has not moved one inch and with a sigh pulls a chair up next to the bed and begins cleaning him up. He looks to be just sleeping but Dean isn't above bringing in Cass to help but first he'd give his brother a chance to recover on his own. That said, he settles in for the wait.

The first thing he notices is the pounding in his head followed shortly by an odd weight pressing in his side. He cracks his eyelids open and promptly shut them again. While the overhead light wasn't on, the lamp by his bedside is and the brightness is almost too much. He feels his stomach do a swoop of complaint. Rather than try opening his eyes again, Sam pushes at the strange weight at his side only discover short spikey hair which prompts him to try the eyes again. Dean is half sprawled on the bed and half still sitting in the chair and he looks as uncomfortable as Sam had ever seen him.

"Dean?" He pushes at his brother.

"Just a few more minutes, Sammy," his brother mumbles.

"Dean," Sam says a bit more forcefully. "What's going on?"

Dean starts awake and sits up, and Sam feels like squirming under his brother's gaze.

"'What's going on?'" Dean mimics. "That's a question I feel like I should be asking you. What the hell, Sam? Do we have to make new rules about playing with the new toys?"

Sam frowns as he tries to make sense of what Dean is saying but his memory is one big black blank until he remembers the hourglass. "Oh."

"Yeah, 'Oh' is right." Dean sits up and stretches and Sam feels all sorts of bad about the whole thing. This wasn't helping deflect the worried big brother thing Dean had going on. "How you doing then, Sammy?"

Sam takes a quiet inventory. Besides the pounding of his head and the deep ache of his lungs he feels pretty ok. No nausea as of yet. "Better," is all he'll commit to. "What day is it?"

Dean looks at his watch and shakes his head. "Tomorrow. You've slept a little over 24 hours, princess." He gives Sam the big brother glare. "So, what the hell, Sam? What are you doing touching things like that?"

Sam's memory is filling in more and he recalls what the hourglass does and sits up, eyes wide. "It takes you back in time."

Dean frowns. "What do you mean? Is it like a TARDIS?"

Sam smiles, no one loves Dr. Who more than Dean Winchester. Or maybe Sam reflects, no one loves the companions of Dr. Who more than Dean Winchester. "Not exactly. I touched it and time started going backwards…it was like I was watching myself on TV only going backwards."

"That can't be good." Dean scratches his head.

"If you shake it and think of an event in your life it zooms you right there," Sam went on, his excitement growing.

"Whoa," Dean says. "Did it come with any warnings? Like touch me and pass out for 24 hours?"

Sam stops and shuts his mouth with a snap. "I don't know."

"Wait, what?" Dean cocks his head forward and puts a hand to his ear. "Did you just say you don't know? Geek boy didn't look up in the files all the "pertinent facts" about something that's in a room full of curse boxes?" Dean could hear his voice rising but couldn't quite seem to stop it. "Did the cursed rabbit's foot mean nothing to you? For the love of Chuck, Sam! You're supposed to be the brains of the operation!"

When Dean pauses for a breath, Sam holds up a hand to forestall the oncoming tirade. "I know," he says. "I blew it, I goofed up, and I'm sorry."

Dean blusters to a halt. "You should be, jerk."

Sam smiles. All was almost forgiven. "Do you want to try it?" Which is probably not the best thing he could've said.

"What? Do I want to try it? Are you crazy, Sam? What did I just say?!"

Sam holds up a hand. "Fine, not until I research the thing."

Dean nods grudgingly and then cocks his head and looks at his brother. "Why?"

Sam frowns. "Why what?"

"Why would you want to go back and relive your life? What's the point? Does it make you feel better to see certain folks again? Would you feel better if you saw Jess or Dad again, only to watch them die? Would you want to watch yourself pop Lucifer out of his cage and rehash that mistake again? Or in my case…to see Mom again and watch her burn or Lisa and Ben and know every day they're better off without me? Or watch ol' yellow eyes kill you again?"

It was quite a speech for his brother and it brings him up short. It was true, every bit of it and if he had really stops to think, there wasn't much he'd want to experience again in his life and even if he could, what _would_ be the point. He couldn't change anything.

He opens his mouth and then closes it again before shaking his head. "You're absolutely right, Dean."

Dean shrugs his shoulders self-consciously. "Maybe there's one or two things we could use it for, but Sammy, it's just not worth it now."

Sam nods. "We'll need to be careful putting it away." He makes to stand up but feels the room do a spin.

"Easy." Dean pushes him back down. "I'll get it. You just rest."

Sam nods again, feeling unexplainably tired. He wants to blame the hourglass but he has a sinking feeling it was a great deal more. His eyelids droop and he rolls onto his side. "Thanks, Dean."

"No problem, Sammy." Dean pats him on the shoulder and watches him for a minute, making sure he's safe. That thought has summed up his entire life…keep Sam safe—and these trials were not keeping him safe.

He leaves his sleeping brother and heads down to the store room. He squats down and eyes the thing cautiously. Despite what he'd told Sam, the temptation was great. He could remember his mother, their house in Lawrence, and his dad tossing him the football and with every fiber of his being he wants to see that again, to be four again and worry about nothing more than cartoons and teddy bears. But life has not been easy since then…one shitstorm after another. And now they have the chance to close the gates of hell. No more monsters, no more things that go bump in the night, and that can only be a good thing.

He had swung by the kitchen to pick up the tongs and he gingerly reaches out, clamps the hourglass and swings it into the crate before closing it with a bang. Grabbing the hammer, he nails the lid back down and shoves it into the far corner.

Keeping Sammy safe…that was what mattered to Dean and by God that's what he ia going to do. He turns off the light and with determination he heads back up to his brother's room to do just that.


End file.
